


Knowing Thy Enemy Has Its Benefits, I'd Say

by halstiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, And Everything Is Dramatic and Changed, Angst, Hogwarts 6th Year, In Which Draco Isn't Hit With Sectumsempra, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halstiel/pseuds/halstiel
Summary: The ramifications of never touching Draco Malfoy with Sectumsempra runs far deeper than anyone would know.





	1. A Failed Cruciatus Leaves Us Where?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is largely inspired by: https://raven303-scarlett99.tumblr.com/post/168358123767/hc-drarry-2-so-i-have-this-one-trait-that-i
> 
> I've no regrets.

It can never be said that Draco Malfoy had perfect decorum.

Sure, his back stands straight and rigid, his eyes are constantly guarded and searching, his hair is always neatly combed back. 

However, he never stills his hands.

His fingers are long and thin; sometimes, when they move quickly, they remind me of a spider. He tries to keep his nails filed, but with his new found habit of biting them, they're always a bit . . . lopsided, disorderly.

When he's articulating something he's excited about, his hands move wildly; the more passionate he becomes, the more movement is in his upper-body. His friends know by now when they should move away. In the beginning of the school year, Malfoy's movement was constant. Whenever he talked, it wasn't without hand movement.

Now, it's different. Now, it's more involuntary.

I watched everything he did and noticed the differences in his person. As time went on, he no longer went on long, passionate monologues with exaggerated hand movements. As he glared at me, like he sometimes did, his hands would clench around his eating utensils or quill, most likely in anger. When Parkinson talked to him alone, usually as they walked to class, his hands would shake and he would sometimes clench his left wrist. I learned quickly that it was a sign of _nervous_ anger.

Sometimes I caught him staring at Dumbledore with something akin to fear in his eyes, as he forced his hands into his deep robe pockets. I had declared it a sign of fear, or distress. 

When he lies, he always plays around with his cuff-links. He'll look a person in the eye, and his voice will give nothing away, but Harry always sees the way he fidgets with his cuff-links. It's interesting to know that he primarily lies to Parkinson; even if they weren't together, she seems to be the only one to question his well being (which also happens to be one of the only things he lies about).

Hermione and Ron think I'm obsessed. I don't think I am, personally; I think it's more of knowing the enemy. Knowing the enemy, however, comes with a price.

Learning Draco Malfoy has turned him into a human. Sure, he might be a bigoted, pretentious prick, but there's a little bit more to him. He's actually quite the swot, even though his school work seems to be lacking these days. He's stopped calling people mudbloods and halfbreeds, only taking time to sneer at Harry and his friends. He writes like mad in a worn, leather journal. Well, multiple, actually. He's just started a clean fourth one and he doesn't let anyone touch it, from what I can see.

. . . So maybe I am a little obsessed. I can still understand the enemy.

I took out the Marauder's Map, alone for once. Ron was ill again, and Hermione had questions for Professor Vector. I looked around on the map for Malfoy's name and found it on the sixth level boy's bathroom with-

I blinked. Moaning Myrtle?

I heard a sound behind me and, not wanting to run into Filch or his pesky cat, darted down the staircase where the bathroom was. I held my breath as I tried to eavesdrop through the door, but it was too thick. I swallowed, before slowly opening it and creeping inside quietly.

The bathroom was dark, only the oil lamps on the walls lit. Malfoy stood in front of the sink, with his hands clenched tightly on either side of the basin. ( _Anger?_ I thought uselessly.) His head was bent over the porcelain and his hair unusually messy.

"Don't," Moaning Myrtle said, her voice soft and cooing, but sounding sincerely sad. Her voice was coming from one of the cubicles. "Don't . . . tell me what's wrong . . . I can help you . . ."

"No one can help me," replied Malfoy, and his voice was pained. He started shaking, with his fingers loosening their grip and tapping randomly against the sink. ( _Nervousness? Or perhaps distress? He's leaning quite heavily on his arms, perhaps he'd fall if he tried to shove his hands into his pockets_  . . .) "I can't do it . . . I can't . . . It won't work . . . and unless I do it soon . . ." his voice choked up and I looked up at his face through the mirror, "he says he'll kill me . . ."

I watched silently as tears leaked out of Malfoy's eyes, his grip on the sink strong. Desperation, I decided. That's what that meant. Desperation and fear. 

Malfoy seemed to choke on his fear, his breaths coming in short pants and his tears rolling down his face. He glanced up, then, and we locked eyes in the broken mirror. In an instant, he had turned and his wand was in his hand, a hex already hurtling towards me. I dodged it, just barely, and tried to hit him with a _Levicorpus!_ but he easily evaded the attack. Myrtle screamed in the background, but it was all static, as the duel became more intense.

One of my jinxes backfired against a toilet and its' cistern burst. I slipped on the water, knowing that as soon as I had fallen, Malfoy would have gotten the advantage he needed.

He wasted it not and I watched his shaking hands slash the air menacingly as he bellowed, " _CRUCIO!_ "  I tensed, waiting for the pain to come, but it didn't. I opened my eyes, which I had unknowingly shut, and watched Malfoy's hand movement as he tried to cast again. He was shaking even more profoundly than before, and his incantations became muffled with his sobbing. He continued to slash the air, even as his knees buckled and his words were incoherent. He curled in on himself, his wand falling from his grasp, and I sat up, moving very slowly, towards him. I sheathed my wand, only daring to hope.

Myrtle's voice floated around us, but neither of us paid her any mind. I crawled next to Malfoy, who had completely hunched over and into himself. I breathed in for a moment and made two, most likely stupid decisions. I cast a strong locking spell on the door, with a decent Silencing spell, swallowing as I did. And hesitantly, I patted Malfoy's back.

His entire frame tensed and lurched towards the touch, though it was probably just instinct. He lifted his head, staring at Harry with hard, steely eyes, but after a moment, his mask broke as more tears fell and Malfoy threw his bony frame on top of mine. 

I had no idea what to do. 

His tears ran hotly down the side of my neck and I continued to rub his back, trying to soothe him through my touch. I remember what Uncle Vernon used to do when I cried and I suppressed a shudder, remembering the pain of the belt too well. Malfoy, most likely, had always had someone he could run to if he were troubled.

Then I remembered Lucius' cruelty and Narcissa's coldness and realised that maybe he hadn't.

"Hey, Malfoy?" He tensed again, his breathing uneven. I frowned slightly and said, "I want you to breathe with me, okay?"

He pushed himself away from me, his breathing still erratic. His eyes were bloodshot and wide and he looked . . . crazed. "You want me to breathe with you, Potter? Is that what you want?" I breathed in myself, startled at his sudden outburst and, without thinking, grabbed his left wrist. His pulse beat rapidly under my fingertips as we stared at each other, his eyes flickering between me and his wrist, his fear evident with his mask still broken.

"Please, Malfoy," I said simply. I loosened my grip, so he knew he could leave at any time, but to both of our surprises, his face scrunched up and he nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and crossed his legs, sitting in front of me with an expectant expression. "Alright . . . erm, just breathe in with me, yeah? Breathe in for five seconds, hold it, and then breathe out for five seconds, and then repeat, okay?" He nodded reluctantly and I gave him a small grin. 

For a few moments, we breathed together, my hand still grasping his wrist. I felt his heartbeat slow and he opened his eyes, his expression shockingly open when he smiled at me.

I knew I was about to ruin it, but I needed information.

"What have you been doing this year?" His smile vanished as his shoulders hunched. He didn't move his arm.

"None of your business, Potter," Malfoy said halfheartedly. He sniffed suddenly and he jumped up, his eyes on the door. I was instantly alert. 

"Wha-" I tried to ask, but he put a finger to his mouth, effectively shushing me.

"Snape is here. You need to hide," he murmured urgently. He walked over to the mirror and started casting Glamours, covering the bruises under his eyes and masking any sign of his previous state.

I had tensed at Snape's name, but I was only confused, now. "Why?" I whispered.

I felt a rush of magic heat my cheeks and I looked at the door in dawning realisation. Malfoy walked up to me grimly and asked, "Do you know how to cast a Disillusionment charm?"

I shook my head no. Christ, Snape was dismantling my wards!

He cursed and pointed his wand at me, casting a quiet spell. I felt a chill run down my bones and looked down, to find that I was disguised like a chameleon.

"We need to switch wands so that you'll be able to take the enchantment off," he muttered. I was about to vehemently disagree, but I saw my opening to meet with him again. His hands were buried deep in his pockets.

"Okay." His eyes darted to mine, wide, but concealing his emotion. "Meet me at the door on the seventh floor tomorrow, at six. During dinner." The last of the magic slid back into me and I grabbed Malfoy's wand and handed him mine. I darted next to the cubicle closest to the door, just as Snape strolled in. Malfoy pocketed the wand quickly, his lips forming into a sneer.

"My, the magic is thick in the air here, isn't it?" he said nastily. He took in the surroundings of the bathroom: the burnt out lamp, the broken pipe in the toilet, Myrtle's quiet wails. I held my breath.

"Quite. I was . . . upset to find that my latest attempt wasn't as successful as it could have been," Malfoy retorted snootily, only hinting at his failing plans. His hands were still buried deep in his pockets.

"Oh? What's happened?"

He shrugged, his right hand now fiddling with his left cuff-link. "I find that the Cruciatus curse has much more to offer than just torture." He looked at Snape from underneath his lashes and his right eye twitched. He reminded me of Bellatrix for a moment and I had to remind myself that he was lying. Snape's attention was rapt and directly on Malfoy; now was the time to escape.

So I did.

* * *

I paced in front of the Room of Requirement with little patience. Malfoy's wand had been pliant in my hand and even friendly, if that made sense. No one had noticed that it wasn't mine and I was glad.

I cast a quick _Tempus_. 18:17. I muttered under my breath as Malfoy's figure came from down the hall. He was wearing a black cloak, blending in with the shadows well. I wouldn't have noticed him if I hadn't been watching for him so closely.

"I had said 6, Malfoy. 6!" I said indignantly. 

He scowled. "Would you keep it down? I had to get Vincent and Gregory downstairs to eat, and even then, it was hard to escape."

"We need to talk," I said without preamble and he nodded after a moment. I stepped in front of the door and paced three times, thinking, _we need neutral territory, we need neutral territory, we need neutral territory._

The door appeared and I walked in, my mouth open as I stared at the room in awe. 

It was similar to the Great Hall; very similar, actually. The stones were polished and lighter, and instead of four, long tables, there was a large, round one in the center of the room. The sky enchantments were reminiscent of a sunset and kept the room bright, though candles floated lazily as well.

Malfoy stood next to me for a moment, taking in the sight, before moving to sit at the table in the center. I followed after a moment, sitting next to him. I swallowed, unable to find the words.

Malfoy didn't have that problem. "Cat got your tongue, Potter?" I said nothing, only looking at him. We were both risking a lot being here.

"I want answers, Malfoy."

"Don't we all," he muttered and gave me a bitter, rueful grin. "Alright, Potter, as long as I can ask questions, too. And I want something else."

"What?"

He gave me a pained expression and I had a feeling we would be here awhile.

"Help."


	2. Chapter 2

"You want my _what_?"

"I don't _want_ your help, Potter," Malfoy said vehemently. "I need it." He glared at me with a passion that I hadn't realised I missed.

"What makes you think that'd I'd even be willing to help you? You almost _Crucio_ 'd me!" He flinched and I regretted my words. He clenched his wrist and sat up straight in his chair, looking at me accusingly.

" _To no avail!_ " he roared. The lights in the room dimmed as the enchanted ceiling's sun completely set. "I've no idea if you'll help me, Potter, but you'd probably give me a better chance than Dumbledore! He'd force me to spy on the Dark Lord and clearly, I can't even cast a _Cruciatus_ curse right on someone who's been the most obnoxious pain in my side since the first day of Hogwarts! If I had it my way, I'd stay out of the bloody war like Zabini, but I can't! Not with this guillotine over my head and a spotlight on my name." He suddenly slumped, and looked away, swallowing hard.

I was torn.

Malfoy was probably right about Dumbledore wanting another spy on Voldemort, but he'd never survive if he couldn't cast all of the Unforgivables. But then there was my task with the Horcruxes. How was I supposed to help Malfoy when I had my own duties to perform? Did he think he was the only one with a trying task?

And then what about Ron and Hermione? Both would be incredulous that Malfoy came for my help and they probably both hate Malfoy, anyway; at least, Ron did.

I sighed and saw Malfoy start rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. "I have my own duties that I have to perform in this war. Tell me what Voldemort's task for you is, and then maybe we can do something."

For a few, long moments, he stood there stoically, before he said, "We have to get to Hogsmeade."

"Why?" I asked, dumbfounded. Couldn't he just say?

"I can tell you everything after we get to Hogsmeade. I need to . . ." he trailed off, rubbing his forehead again.

I swallowed tightly. "What makes you think I should-" He opened his mouth to interrupt me, but I cut in before he could. "No! Listen to me, now, would you?" He fell silent. "What makes you think I can trust you? So we shared wands for a night without either us snapping the other's, which, by the way, you've made no attempt to give to me." I made no attempt to bring up whatever we had shared in the bathroom, either. He already knew, and it seemed like acknowledgment would make it real.

Malfoy dug his hands into his pockets, and he sat down heavily at the table. "I'll get Veritaserum and you can question me completely." Malfoy's eyes were wide and his hands were clenched on the table. He was desperate and for what, I didn't know. "Please. I can even get it from Severus' quarters if you don't want to buy it yourself from Hogsmeade."

"Fine, fine!" The tension seeped out of Malfoy like an abrupt Spring shower. "But we aren't going to Hogsmeade. We don't have time to waste. Go get it from Snape's lab, or whatever."

He nodded, relief still evident in his gaze, and loosely hanging hands. He suddenly dug into his pocket and retrieved my wand. He held it out for me to grab.

I paused only for a second, before grabbing it, and pulling his out to return. He snatched it as soon as it was in arm's reach.

Malfoy hurried out of the room without another glance. I didn't hope for him to come back, though I did stay.

It was to my immense surprise that he did come back. He had his cloak pulled around him tightly and his wand was drawn in front of him.

"Do you know what time it is, Potter?" he asked. I shook my head no. Casting a _Tempus_ , I blinked. 

It was past curfew.

"As I Prefect, I'll be able to use my title to my advantage. Otherwise, I can teach you the _Disillusionment_ charm before we leave." I nodded carefully and caught whatever he threw at me. It was a tiny potion bottle.

"This is it?"

Malfoy nodded. He looked away as he said, "Ask the elves to conjure some tea and ask them to put three drops into it." His nails started digging into his hand, and he continued to stare blankly at the wall.

"Er . . . okay." I did as told, giving the elf Malfoy's exact instruction. I fixed the tea to his preference and then slid it across the table.  He breathed in deeply before delicately picking up the cup, and chugging the tea down in four, long gulps.

My brows creased and I asked, "What's your name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Why didn't you look at me during the interaction with the house elf?"

His eyes shot to mine and the words tumbled out without his usual precision. He glared. "I did that so that if I'm ever questioned under Veritaserum by the Dark Lord or others, I would be able to clearly state I don't know who put the Verituserum in this cup of tea, or when, or if I saw them do it. If asked, I would say that whoever did it was following orders, and asked if they were my orders, I could truthfully say no."

I gaped for a moment. He smirked. I righted myself and said, "All right, then. Let's get started."


End file.
